


I Wish I Could Hate You

by Dramione84



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Smut, dub-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:28:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23653882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dramione84/pseuds/Dramione84
Summary: With exams looming, Oliver can't sleep, so decides to go for an early morning run.  But it turns out he's not alone down on the Quidditch pitch...
Relationships: Marcus Flint/Oliver Wood
Kudos: 119





	I Wish I Could Hate You

**Author's Note:**

> With my thanks to Thorneandrose for alpha reading!

Oliver sighed, turning over in his bed, tossing the covers to one side. He hated not being able to sleep, but with the stress of end of year exams coming up, he found himself having yet another restless night. Quidditch he had always excelled at, academics however, not so much. He got by with a little, okay, a lot of help from Percy, but it didn’t make it any less stressful. Sitting up, he glanced over at his sleeping roommate and then at his worn out wristwatch. Six fifteen. Well, he figured, it was unlikely that he would be getting any more sleep than the two hours he had managed at best, so he might as well do something productive. Reaching under the bed, he grabbed his trainers before standing to dress in his worn out sweats.

Ten minutes later he was out on the oval track that formed the perimeter of the Quidditch pitch. He had been so wrapped up in studying that this was the first time in two weeks he had been down here for a morning run and, boy, did he know it. As he picked up his pace, his lungs burned at the cold spring morning air that filled them with every inhalation.

As he came past the goals at the top end of the pitch, into his second lap, he got the sense he wasn’t alone any more. Sure enough, as he ran another 200 meters, a figure stepped into view at the end of the stands. Typical, Oliver thought to himself, can’t get a moment’s peace can I?  
The all too familiar figure of his number one rival, Marcus Flint, came further into view, casting off his winter robe and scarf before starting his own jog around the pitch. Determined not to be caught up with, as he was in no mood for the barrage of barbs he was sure to receive, he picked up his pace once more, ensuring there was always at least half a lap between them at all times.

Ten laps complete, Oliver grabbed his own winter robe and scarf from where they had been carelessly slung into a heap on the stands, ignoring Marcus as he closed in on him, completing his own set of laps. Shoving the door to the changing rooms hard, he made his way to the showers without a second thought.

Turning the shower on, he closed his eyes, splaying his hands against the cold tiles just above his head, slowly inhaling the steam that started to build up in the communal enclave. Again he sensed he was not alone, pointedly ignoring the sound of the second shower turning on, grateful that Marcus had at least put a little distance between them. Silently he ducked his head under the spray, allowing the water to beat down on his chestnut locks for a moment or two, massaging his weary scalp before reaching for the shampoo, massaging it in, eyes remaining tightly shut.

For a moment he allowed his mind to wander, letting his guard down a little too easily. He didn’t hear the other shower switch off, much less notice as Marcus closed the gap between them, until it was too late. Eyes snapping open, he turned to face Marcus who sneered back at him, charcoal grey eyes glaring at Oliver.

“Fuck off, Flint,” Oliver managed, trying to sound a little more stern than he could actually muster at that moment in time. But Marcus only sneered the more, his lips curling in an almost sinister way. Suddenly Oliver felt Marcus’ hand shove him in the right shoulder so roughly that it banged hard against the tiles as Marcus forced him round.  
“I said, fuck off,” Oliver all but shouted, his voice hoarse, water cascading down his face as he struggled to break free of Marcus’ death like grip. Marcus seemed to relish in Oliver’s struggle, pinning him with a hand to each shoulder against the frigid tiles.  
“Honestly, Marcus, you pick your moments. I’m really not in the mood right now,” Oliver continued, trying to release himself from Marcus’ grip.

But the raven haired man seized his opportunity, cutting him off before he could utter another syllable, crashing his lips down on his open mouth. Oliver could not help but be aroused by the all too familiar action, this not having been the first time that Marcus had taken what he wanted from him. Marcus broke free from the searing kiss for a moment, pulling back to examine Oliver’s face, eyes flicking to meet his, waiting to see if his prey would fight or fly from his attack. For a moment Oliver wasn’t sure himself which action he would take. Passion seized him and he jerked his head forward, capturing Marcus’ lips with his own and it was all the raven haired man needed to know that this was what Oliver wanted.

Vying for dominance, tongues battled as Marcus released his grip of Oliver’s shoulders. Oliver’s hands found their way into Marcus’ hair, pulling his locks hard as Marcus bit down on Oliver’s bottom lip, bruising it. Oliver gasped at the pain, eyes flickering open to watch as Marcus grinned at him before crashing to his knees before the Gryffindor. Oliver felt Marcus’ hands splay his buttocks, digging into the toned flesh pulling him closer, roughly. He gasped as Marcus took his cock in his mouth, searing heat engulfing him, eyes snapping shut as he took in the sensations. Marcus hollowed his cheeks as he sucked, his tongue massaging the shaft as he pulled Oliver closer once more. He couldn’t help but grin to himself as he heard Oliver hiss and curse, his hands finding their way into Marcus’ locks once more, gently pulling him deeper. He cursed again as Marcus’ left hand came round to massage his balls, gripping his hair slightly tighter. Seconds later he came with a guttural moan, his knees buckling slightly, held up by Marcus.

Grinning, Marcus let Oliver’s cock fall from his mouth, turning him round, less forcefully than the first time.  
“My turn,” he told Oliver, spreading his cheeks and spitting. It was crude and seductive all at the same time and Oliver felt himself quiver with anticipation as Marcus stood. Relaxing slightly to allow easy passage, Oliver felt Marcus grip his hips tight, plunging into him. He moaned as Marcus fell into an easy rhythm, hips cantering as he grinned at Oliver’s back, watching the water beat forcefully down onto his shoulders. So aroused at the sight of Oliver submitting to his ministrations so easily, it didn’t take long for Marcus’s desire to build into an explosive orgasm that rendered him spent, crashing down on Oliver, water pouring over them both as they fell to the floor.

After a few moments, Marcus silently helped Oliver to his feet, leading him by the hand to the locker room. Wordlessly they towelled off and dressed. It was Oliver who broke the silence first, not daring to look Marcus in the eye as he tied his trainers.  
“I wish I could hate you,” he told him quietly.  
Marcus paused, his own trainer in his hand.  
Oliver found his voice once more.  
“I wish I could hate you,” he repeated with a sigh, “but the truth is I don’t. I can’t.”  
Marcus continued to pull on his trainer silently, buying time before he replied, not daring to look Oliver in the eye.  
“I want to, sometimes,” Oliver continued, pausing once more as he waited for a response from Marcus, expecting an inevitable rejection.  
Marcus bit his bottom lip. “I want to hate you too,” he finally replied, pulling on his other trainer. “Hell knows I should.”  
Oliver frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he enquired, turning to meet Marcus’s sidelong gaze.  
Marcus sighed. “You know how it is, Ollie. We belong to different houses, we come from different backgrounds, we have different expectations thrust upon us,” he told him gently.  
Oliver was stunned, this being the first time that Marcus had spoken to him with any sort of sincerity.  
“But you’re right,” Marcus continued, grabbing Oliver’s hand. “I wish I could hate you, but I don’t.” Squeezing his hand momentarily, Marcus stood as Oliver glanced up at him, speechless. Marcus gave him a lopsided smile that Oliver almost thought looked a little sad as he dropped a gentle kiss to his forehead.  
“We will figure this out,” Marcus told him cryptically, before grabbing his things and making to leave the changing rooms.  
“Will we though?” Oliver heard himself ask, as he glanced at Marcus who had paused at the doorway, one hand on the door. Marcus bowed his head slightly in silent response as he pushed open the door and left Oliver with tears in his eyes, as he tried not to ponder their future.


End file.
